Moments
by Danny Phantom SG-1
Summary: A collection of moments that crawled from my brain and squirmed onto the page, ready to haunt the minds of all who encounter them. Various genres and characters. Moment Eight: "It took a lot of work to get him this way," he said forebodingly. "And it's our job to make sure he stays like this."
1. Still Human

_I've been writing random stuff and posting it on tumblr, but it was getting disorganized over there, so I am uploading it all here, too._

_This was written for Angst Day - October 1, 2013._

* * *

_Still Human_

There was a loud clank as the familiar cell door was opened, its sole occupant tossed unceremoniously inside.

Her initial reaction was underwhelming at best. It had woken her, as it did every night, but she merely turned away and shut out the world again. The routine was monotonous, and there was nothing irregular about tonight's late entry.

Except that instead of emitting a few short groans before falling to silence, her cell neighbor made noises that caused her to turn over in shock.

They'd been here for months. There were no calendars, no way to tell the passing of time except for the consistency with which their captors would come and take them away for torture and experiments. Every ghost got its own special cell, small enough to compare to that godforsaken thermos, shielded in by spectral energy. Ember was sandwiched in between Phantom and Skulker, and all the other ghosts the agency managed to capture were down the hallway from them. Phantom's cell was at the end because it was the only one that required an actual structure; his was the only one that clanged shut when he got thrown inside.

Not once in those unaccounted for months had she heard him do more than groan and bear it. Every ghost endured the tortures; every ghost got experiments performed on them. He knew it, she knew it. They all knew it. And they all hated it. But there was little they could do. This agency had studied ghosts thoroughly, and escaping was nigh impossible. Sometimes they would stay up late and discuss escape plans – fruitless as their efforts may be – but no one did much more than groan and ache when they came back from their sessions.

Phantom's schedule always ran late. For most of the ghosts, it was like an average work day. Wake up, get grabbed and poked and prodded and forced to perform unimaginable feats. Then they'd go back to their cells and seethe and talk and sleep if they felt like it. As ghosts, they didn't necessarily need much else. Although the inability to feed their individual obsessions sometimes resulted in fascinating tests the following day…

But Phantom…

He was special. He was the most different of them all. Everyone knew it. And everyone knew they treated him differently because of it. But not differently as in "he's human so we have to go easy on him." Differently as in they had to squeeze as much data out of him as possible…no matter what the cost.

So hearing him come in late, groaning and sighing in resignation, was no surprise for Ember. As a generally apathetic being, she would normally roll over and go back to sleep, dreaming of crowds cheering as she played her latest work of art.

But tonight, it was not a groan. It was not even a muffled whimper. He was full-on sobbing his guts out, and through her haze, she turned to look at him.

He was not far from her. All of the ghosts could talk and see each other through their barriers. It was a little more difficult with him because, in addition to his ghost cell, he also was encased by heavy metal bars. But if she scooted just two feet over, he'd be within an arm's reach of her.

"Please," she heard him whisper, and she finally scooted toward him, noting as she came to full consciousness that his usually-pristine suit looked torn and was barely hanging off of his bony frame.

Glancing back at the other ghosts, she noted from Skulker on that everyone else was still asleep. Noting this, she turned back to Phantom and called to him quietly.

"Hey. Dipstick."

His reaction was not what she'd expected. He drew in a sharp, gasping breath, and his sobbing stopped almost immediately.

"S…Sam?" he responded gently.

She blinked at this, confused. This was…odd. Wracking her brain, she seemed to have a vague recollection of the ghost boy's girlfriend having this name. But that was most definitely _not_ her name.

Breathing heavily, he turned over, and she got her first look at him. He was beaten and bruised, and she almost turned away in embarrassment because his suit was so torn that it hid very little from her anymore. She looked at his face and noticed that his eyes were closed, as though he had fallen asleep. Tears still cascaded down his cheeks, and his brow was furrowed in obvious pain despite his lack of sentience.

Without thinking, she reached out a hand to brush away his bangs. It was only after she'd made contact that she realized their cells were no longer separated by a spectral energy shield. Only the bars stood between them. She was about to alert him to this revelation – if it was true of the other sides of his cell, he could escape and help them all out – but immediately after she touched him, he screamed.

"NO! PLEASE!" he rasped so loudly that Ember backed away from him and turned toward the other ghosts in shock. Surprisingly, nothing more than a stir from Skulker, who simply turned his back. Were they all really this oblivious…?

Turning back to Phantom with wide eyes, she noted that he'd opened his own, but he was staring unblinkingly at the ceiling as his chest heaved for air.

"Don't," his voice returned to a whisper. "Don't touch me, please."

The confusion on her face slowly dissipated and was replaced with a gradual and dark look of understanding. She felt her hair spark in a sympathetic motion. They'd done something to him today. Something different. She took in the red, finger-shaped bruises all over his body and the clothes that barely graced his figure…and concluded that today, they had subjected him to something horribly unspeakable.

His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and though he stared at the ceiling, she knew he saw nothing. He was not aware of his surroundings. Was blocking out every horrific memory of the day. He was shaking, and his breathing was erratic, and she could think of nothing else to do, so she whispered his name.

"Danny."

At the sound of his name – his real first name that no one ever called him anymore – his breathing slowed and his entire body seemed to stop trembling and relax. His eyes closed most of the way, and the only thing left shaking was his voice as he repeated, "Sam?"

Again, she blinked. But she was slowly beginning to understand what was happening, and she decided, since no one else was looking, she could help…

"Danny," she said again, purposefully using his name. "It's okay."

It sounded emotionless and dumb even as it left her mouth, and when she heard him start to breathe more heavily, she decided more had to be done to keep him quiet and simultaneously keep her tough, rocker façade intact. One more scream and the other ghosts would surely take notice and see her over here consoling the whelp.

"I'm going to hold your hand. Okay?"

Her voice sounded almost disgustingly sweet, and she cringed. Meanwhile, he tensed at the suggestion before slowly nodding his head and stretching his hand away from his body, opening his palm and separating his shivering fingers. She looked at her own glowing hand for a moment before reaching steadily for his. Her fingers brushed against his lightly, and he bit his lip to keep from overreacting to the touch. She watched his face to gauge his readiness before slowly entwining their fingers, his skin hot against hers.

Once the gentle touch had settled in, she felt the tension leave his hand, and she watched as it then spread throughout his body, resulting in a short, stuttering sob of relief. This was all. Just a reassuring gesture. No harsh commands or grabbing or tearing or shoving or forcing of any kind. Not all touching was bad. Not all.

She sat there with her arm through the bars, holding the hand of a foe she'd sooner have done away with just a few months ago. She watched him adjust to her touch, and she sighed as he held her hand just a little tighter.

"It's all right, Danny. It will be all right. You just…" her voice became distant, "have to forget. That's the best thing to do. You don't want to remember. Just forget."

Ironic advice coming from her, but she saw him shut his eyes all the way as he drifted into a semi-conscious slumber.

"Thanks, Sam," he mumbled, and she frowned in return.

"Say my name, Danny," she pleaded then, her voice a little desperate. "Say _my _name."

"Ember?"

The sound caused her hair to flare, but she noted with just a bit of disappointment that it had not been Danny who'd said it. Not letting go of the boy's hand, she turned to the occupant of the other adjacent cell.

Skulker cocked an eyebrow, his eyes trailing down to her hand and back up in question.

She would have blushed and pulled away if it had been anyone else.

"He's been…it's been a rough night for him," she decided, smoothing her thumb absently across the back of Danny's hand.

He gave her a look as if to say, "Hasn't it been a rough night for everyone? What makes him so special?" And she could read it in his eyes as she shook her head at him, unwanted tears threatening to emerge as haunting memories tried to force themselves to be remembered by her.

"It's different," she whispered, looking down at him and trying to hold back resentment that he still thought she was Sam. "He doesn't need…trivial things to survive like we do. He just needs…to be treated like he's human. He's still human."

Skulker watched with interest as Ember brought her other hand to hold it over top of Danny's. A tear might have slid from her eyes, but he'd never admit to seeing that. Not unless he wanted to get pummeled.

"So are you, Ember," he noted quietly before turning his back and giving a moment to the broken souls connected by a broken shield.


	2. Bromance

_Written...I don't remember when...as a submission to HaiJu's prompt "Bromance."_

_From tumblr._

* * *

_Bromance_

A short glance was the only acknowledgement that the other occupant of the bar had even noticed another presence.

"Hey," the newcomer greeted lowly.

A nod.

"Rough day?"

Another nod, though more reluctant.

"Wanna talk about it?"

This time, the white-haired ghost boy turned his head and stared with half-lidded eyes at his companion.

"Didn't think so," the other chuckled as he took a sip from his drink. "You know, I could report you for underage drinking."

A hollow laugh came as Phantom was finally prompted to respond verbally, "Ghost Zone. Pretty sure that's out of United States jurisdiction."

"I meant to Walker," the other tried, barely containing a slightly maniacal smirk.

Phantom's eyes simply narrowed, muscles tensing perceptibly as he gauged the sincerity of the threat. They stayed silent, both braced for a confrontation they knew wouldn't come, before Danny finally relaxed and sighed, staring back at his drink.

"It's almost not even fun anymore, Skulker," he admitted, bringing the glass to his lips. "All our threats these days are as empty as this glass is about to be."

And the hunter could only nod as he joined the ghost boy in downing his drink.


	3. Sacrifice

_I cannot recollect when or why I wrote this, but it was in my file folder. Huh._

_Warning for character death._

* * *

_Sacrifice_

"I can't…I can't believe you just did that," she breathed. The words came without thought because her mind had gone completely numb the moment he hooked himself up to the device.

He stared in a perverted sort of fascination at the wire connecting him to the machine, watching as his life blood, the ectoplasm that held him together and ran through his veins, was sucked slowly out of him. He blinked down at it as though he, too, were trying to comprehend what he'd just done before tilting his head slowly to meet her gaze.

Her eyes were wide, staring directly into his, and he felt a pang of guilt for a moment.

"I had to," he whispered in response, green irises already beginning to flicker.

She shook her head, trying to steady her breathing as her heart thumped wildly in her throat. "No. We could have waited. It could have been any ghost. Anything with ectoplasm. For God's sake, it didn't have to be _you, _Danny."

"It did!" he argued. "How many other ghosts would allow themselves to be used like this? How many would consider themselves an acceptable sacrifice for the greater good?"

"You're _not_ an acceptable sacrifice," she seethed through her teeth, her eyes glassy.

"I _am_," he said with confidence. "Because this is the only thing that's gonna stop them."

She shook her head even as her logic argued it was true. It would work. They'd seen the machine run at full capacity, and it could inflict serious damage to ghosts. But it needed a ghost to power it. That was its weakness. And, of course, finding a ghost to willingly volunteer itself was nigh impossible_._

_Nigh_ impossible…

"You can't," she faltered.

"I can," he said, pointing with his unfastened hand to the wire running through his right arm. "And I am."

They stood in tense silence, nothing but the whir of the machine and the heaviness of their breaths blanketing the mood. They blinked at each other, lost for words and heavy with the quick onset of emotions caused by his rash decision. But he'd had no time. One for the sake of many. That was acceptable.

He blinked at her, unsure if his vision was blurry from rapid blood loss or the emerging sheen of tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I'm so sorry, Sam."

She sighed heavily, her breath shaky as she released it and brought her hands up to her mouth to try to stifle the sob threatening to erupt. She shut her eyes, willing everything to be a dream. A horrible nightmare. This couldn't have happened. He couldn't have done that. He _couldn't._

She opened her eyes only when she heard him emit a soft groan. She felt like she was choking, unable to speak, as she watched him begin to sway back and forth. His weight shifted on unsteady feet, and she watched his eyes roll back into his head as his knees gave way to collapse. On instinct, she rushed toward him, catching the entire weight of him against her before slowly lowering both of them to the ground. The wires in his arm pulled uncomfortably, and if she were more stubborn, she'd have ripped them out and carried him away from here.

But deep down inside, she knew that he was right.

She sat on her knees, her entire body shaking. His brow furrowed, but he opened hazy eyes to look up at her as she placed his head gently in her lap.

"Sam?"

Her name was heavy on his lips, and her heart ached to hear him say it. She smoothed his hair down as she felt the first true tear actually fall from her eyes. Still unable to formulate words, she nodded at him to continue.

He turned so that he faced the machine. He always did feel more comfortable sleeping on his side, she recalled vaguely. She felt the warm gentility of his body lying against hers, the way the slightest movement caused a stirring within her. She closed her eyes, savoring it. How he felt so alive.

His eyes closed in a painful sort of serenity as the machine got closer to full power, draining him of everything he had. Meanwhile, Sam mindlessly ran her soft hands along his face and neck, feeling the faint echo of a pulse beneath his clammy skin.

"Please," he pleaded, his tongue suddenly very heavy. "Don't leave."

He curled his weakening fingers into her skirt in helpless desperation. She just nodded and placed her hand gently atop his cheek, pressing him closer to her.

"'S gonna work. Can feel it," he muttered with a sense of confidence that made her feel nauseous. He furrowed his brow in pain and confusion. "It's hard to…breathe, though."

She just turned her face to look at the machine. She could not look at him. She felt him under her hand. Felt the steady movement of him against her begin to falter. The grip with which he held her skirt got weaker, and the sound of him desperately trying to suck in air became more disconcerting to her than the loud cacophony of the machine literally sucking every last drop of life from him.

And in that moment, when she knew he was dying, she watched the machine and stroked his hair, and all she could think to say was, "It's going to be okay."

Okay for her. Okay for Amity Park. Okay for the world.

But he suddenly became stiff and cold against her, and she closed her eyes, lifted her hand from him, and scooted back, not wanting to feel the weight of him dead and lying against her when he'd just been so full of life and heroism only moments before.


	4. Flowers

_Written for muttluver on tumblr._

_The first of my one-word prompts._

* * *

_Flowers_:

He was practically sobbing as they slowly perused the aisles. She did her best to ignore him, but when they turned yet another corner, only to be graced by a wall of purples and blues, he let out a wail that could rival his ghostly alter ego's.

Finally, she snapped, turning on her heel to face him.

"Danny, I swear, if you don't shut your mouth, we are going to spend the next six hours walking _very_ slowly and sniffing every plant in this blessed place. I'm trying to find the perfect flowers to both enrich the soil of our yard and complement the natural beauty that surrounds us. If you can't appreciate the wonders of nature, then I don't know why you even came with me."

Her scowl deepened when she noted that her outburst had little effect on his whining, and he barely even flinched when she'd started yelling.

"It's not that, Sam," he said, an amused lilt in his voice even as he hiccupped out another sob. "I appreciate nature, I really do – but it's hard to look at all these perfectly watered plants when nature itself is _calling_ me."

It was almost worth the pain he'd put himself through to watch the realization dawn on her face.


	5. Sleepwalking

_Written for forevergirl-tophbeifong on tumblr._

* * *

_Sleepwalking_

She woke up groggily and looked at the clock. Three in the morning. And Jack was snoring. As usual.

Maddie sighed and sat up, knowing that sleep would evade her for at least another hour at this point. She reached for her glass of water and took a sip before fumbling with her earplugs to settle in for another restless night. She put one in but paused when she heard something through her unplugged ear, her eyes widening.

In a panic, she turned toward the doorway of their bedroom. Putting her hand up to her heart, she sighed heavily in relief when she saw Danny.

"Oh, Sweetie," she breathed, half-laughing, "it's just you. I thought it was a ghost."

She chuckled lightly in the aftermath of her fear and decided to walk over to her son so as not to awaken Jack.

"What are you doing up, Danny? Are you okay?" she whispered, ushering him out of the doorway.

His eyes were glazed, and she took a step back, her smile fading.

"Mom," his voice was very even, emotionless. "I am a ghost."

She quirked an eyebrow at him before noticing a slight trail of drool running down his face, and it suddenly dawned on her. Again, she let out a chuckle.

"Oh, Danny," she whispered patting him on the back. "You haven't done this since you were really little. Let's get you back to bed."

"No," he protested, struggling weakly against her hold as she gently nudged him toward his room. "I needed to tell you. I'm a ghost. I want you to know."

"Of course you are, honey," she humored him. Her initial reaction to seeing him in her doorway must have triggered his little "confession." It took everything in her power not to laugh out loud at his silly sleep talk.

"Mommy," he whimpered as she tucked him in. It transported her back about ten years, and her heart leapt into her throat. "I am a ghost."

She sat on the edge of his bed as she smiled, running her fingers through his messy hair and humming lightly to calm him. His glazed-over eyes started to close, and his breathing evened out.

"There, there, Danny," she consoled him. "You're not a ghost. It's okay."

He made a small noise of protest before shutting his eyes the rest of the way and turning over in his bed. She was surprised to feel a tear slide down her cheek as she watched him. How she missed this…

"If I were, though, you'd still love me, right?" he mumbled, barely coherent in his grogginess.

She breathed through her nose and kissed him lightly on the forehead as she patted his hair.

"Of course."


	6. Belief

_Written for sapphireswimming (originally on tumblr)_

* * *

_Belief_

"Do you believe in ghosts?" she asked casually, not taking her eyes off their chemistry report.

He'd been rocking back and forth in a swivel chair next to her, feet pushed up against the table and head tilted back as he stared at the ceiling. Her question elicited a distracted snigger and shrug.

"Seeing as how my parents are ghost hunters, and we literally encounter ghosts every day, I'm not sure how you expected me to respond to that," he said dryly, continuing to rock back and forth as he let Valerie finish up their report. He'd done most of the physical chemical mixing, so he was letting her write up the findings.

They'd gotten a lot better at this project partners thing. At least…in some respects.

"I didn't mean it like that," she rolled her eyes, deleting a few lines. "I should have phrased it better. I mean…do you believe ghosts? Like when they talk to you, do you believe what they say?"

He bit his lower lip and blinked a few times, avoiding looking at her.

"Who…says ghosts even ever talk to me?" he ventured, trying to evade an inevitable argument.

She clicked the mouse a few times before finally turning to him. He flinched instinctively.

"Seeing as how your parents are ghost hunters, and we literally encounter ghosts every day," she deadpanned, "I'm not sure how you expect me to respond to that."

He grimaced. Sighing, he let his feet drop from the table, and he folded his hands in his lap, taking a deep breath.

"I honestly don't know what to think most of the time," he said as honestly as he could muster. "I guess it depends on the ghost. Some of them are okay and others…are compulsive, manipulative liars that will do anything to get to you. You just have to know which is which."

He finally allowed himself a glance in her direction, noting with a bit of resentment that she hadn't bothered to keep her own eyes on him and instead opted to go back to revising their essay.

"Yeah," she replied distractedly. "I know which is which."

He flinched again as she clicked the print button and started to walk away toward the printer. He would have asked her to elaborate further but a cold stirring in his stomach told him he probably wouldn't like her answer.


	7. Retribution

_Written for huntressvaleriegray (originally on tumblr)_

_[AU where instead of letting him go, Valerie takes Danny as her captive at again at the end of D-Stabilized]_

* * *

_Retribution_

Danny sagged heavily against the chains in the darkness. His mind was starting to feel fuzzy after two days. He was so thirsty. So hungry. So tired, yet all he did was sleep. Arguments and screams were all that made up his life anymore, and he couldn't help the shiver that ran through him when he realized he didn't know when it would end. Or _if_ it would.

He was starting to wonder if it was better when she was here torturing him or when she was gone. Yes, when she left it gave him a reprieve from the constant shocks, but it also gave him time to think about how tired and thirsty and scared he was. At least when she was here, he had someone to talk to. Someone to joke with…even though she never joked back.

So when he heard the familiar sound of the door creaking open, he lifted his head, and his heart raced in anticipation.

She walked in silently, her movements stiff, and he followed her with his eyes. He watched her place her backpack on the ground then lean heavily against the table, facing away from him. She seemed to be trembling, and he subconsciously jerked a little farther away. They stood in tense silence for a long while, nothing but her heavy breathing and the rattling of his chains breaking the tension.

At last, her voice, low and terse, met his ears.

"What did you do to him?"

He blinked a few times, then darted his eyes around the room. That wasn't her normal start-up question. He dimly wondered if she was even talking to him.

His silence seemed to only anger her further, and she spun around, her black hair frizzy as it flowed back behind her. Her eyes were wild and red, and Danny's own widened at the sight of her. She was _**mad**_.

"Don't you dare play dumb with me, ghost," she spat. "Where. Is. He?"

The words seethed out of her mouth between clenched teeth, and Danny finally responded pathetically.

"I…I don't know what you're talking about," he whispered honestly. Even at his loudest, his voice was barely audible, and formulating words hurt his dry throat.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," she ground out, turning on her heel again to piece together one of those all-too-familiar weapons she loved so fondly.

He tilted his head back in exhaustion, anticipating the impending electric shocks that would soon torture his body. The sound of the weapon charging sent a muffled sob up to his throat.

"Danny Fenton," she finally said, jerking him suddenly awake and responsive.

What?

"Danny Fenton's gone missing," she growled. "He went missing around the same time I recaptured you. Now, I don't know _how_ you did it, but I know you must have done it when I had my head turned. We were at the Fentons' house, and you had your little afterlife at stake."

She slammed her weapon down on the table, and Danny cringed instinctively.

"You're using him as blackmail so that I'll let you go. You know how I feel about him. You know I've been trying to keep him safe. And now you've kidnapped him, and you are going to tell me where he is, or I swear to God, Phantom," she walked up to him slowly, the barrel of her gun pointed directly under his chin, "I will not hold back one bit."


	8. Work

_Written for sapphireswimming (originally on tumblr)_

* * *

_Work_

The new recruit walked into the most securely guarded room on the premises with a sense of purpose and a smirk he could not wipe off his face. He flashed his badge to every guard in sight, even though he was already through, and walked into the immense chamber.

The walls were made of reinforced steel, coated in a sickly green slime that sort of flowed endlessly around them. There were tubes and wires of various colors—though all dingy and dark somehow—and, most prevelant of all, a huge plastic-looking dome that held the agency's most important project. With just a hint of hesitation, the newbie grasped the handle on the door that led to the dome's treasured content, and he pulled.

He was not the only one in here. No one was every alone in here with that thing. There were always doctors and scientists and agents like him scurrying around everywhere. The scientists and doctors worked together to perform various experiments. And the agents? They were there for added security and protection. Just in case the bubble, the slime, the steel, and the security measures throughout the rest of the building weren't enough.

Because a few times, they hadn't been.

That's why only the most elite officers got to actually work_ inside_ the bubble. This was where the real danger was. One experiment gone wrong – one person out of place, and there was no telling what Project 724 would do.

Putting on a confident front, Agent Baxter sidled up next to one of his trainers, holding his weapon casually and watching the scene play out in front of him. His mentor cocked an eyebrow at him, difficult to see behind dark sunglasses.

"They let you in here already?" the gruff voice asked, almost as if he were impressed.

Dash shrugged. "Guess I'm a natural at this stuff."

He huffed proudly. Everyone told him he would never amount to anything outside of high school. And looking at his record card, he'd dimly remembered believing that was true. But then he'd been _offered_ this position –specifically suited for his unique abilities as a quarterback. Protector of the team. He never quite knew why they'd called _him_ up, offering him a job on a silver platter. But Dash wasn't one to question silver platters, so he'd quickly jumped at the chance and worked his way up the ranks faster than any other recruit. Most agents never saw the inside of the bubble – but here he was merely two months later.

He rocked back and forth on his feet, craning his neck to see over the white lab coat of a scientist in front of him. His comrade smirked.

"These eggheads are always in the way. I wanna see some action," he said, fiddling with his weapon as he shifted its weight in his arms.

"I just wanna see Project 724," Dash admitted. "I've haven't seen him."

The smirk on his trainer's face disappeared, and he cleared his throat.

"He's dangerous," his voice was low and serious. "People used to think he was a hero back in the day, but….well, you've seen the videos the press released. He's been a menace all along."

Dash looked away, hiding a flush that ran across his face.

Danny Phantom. That used to be the name of Project 724. Before…everything. A part of Dash still refused to believe that the ghost had been a bad guy all along. He'd been a hero – Dash had seen it firsthand. And no matter what anyone said, he still vaguely believed that deep down inside, there was that familiar town hero he'd come to admire and whom he'd once even considered a friend of sorts.

But then…then things started happening. The media kept releasing footage of Phantom stealing things and breaking things…and then hurting people…and worse. Some of his classmates adamantly argued that it was all fabricated evidence created by the government to slander the ghost's name. And Dash had wanted to believe that but…there was just so much evidence. And then the government had offered him this job, and…well, he couldn't afford to believe what he wanted to anymore.

But he hadn't seen Project 724. Not really. Hadn't seen Danny Phantom since his late high school days, in fact. He remembered the ghost's jovial attitude and free-spirited demeanor. But judging by the various machines that beeped and whined and the tubes that ran around the room…he imagined the ghost looked quite different nowadays.

At last, with a sense of anticipation, Dash noticed the lab coat in front of him put down his research and start to move to the side. This was it, then. His first clear view.

It started with the hair. He recognized that right away. Bushy and messy and glowing with a weird light that fell across his face, accentuating how emaciated and worn he had become. His ghostly skin stretched tight, and he looked dirty with traces of green specs dusting his general appearance. His tell-tale black jumpsuit was torn beyond repair, and there were so many tubes sticking out of him that Dash could barely make out the frail body beneath it all.

What was even stranger, though, was that over top all of the tubes were heavy-looking restraints. Chains that glowed that same eerie green as the walls encompassed his limbs and his waist, securing him to the table and then securing said table to the ground. There was even a restraint around his neck and some kind of rope-like gag over his mouth. Dash could sense the grimace of horror deepening on his face, and though he wanted to act casual, he had a sudden urge to throw up. The ghost was moaning constantly, and as he turned over in obvious anguish, Dash finally got a good look at his eyes.

They were dead. Just…completely dead and empty and_ gone_, and he suddenly felt very wrong.

"It's pretty intense, isn't it?" his mentor finally spoke, noting the expression on his young charge's face. "The power this facility has. The power _we_ have."

Dash blinked a few times, doubt suddenly encroaching on his mind.

"He looks so…broken," he whispered at last, his voice betraying his sentiments.

He felt strong hands grab him by the shoulder, and suddenly he was looking at the sunglasses of the man next to him.

"It took a lot of work to get him this way," he said forebodingly. "And it's our job to make sure he stays like this. Do you understand, Baxter?"

There was a calm threat underlying his question, so Dash merely nodded, wondering suddenly what the hell he had gotten himself into.


End file.
